"Physically, perhaps not," Kitty replied. "But the stature of Mr. Garrick varies. I have seen him tower over every one on the stage--over every one in the playhouse; and again I have seen him dwindle until he was no higher than a child."
"How does he manage that? A stage trick, I expect."
"I dare say 't is so--merely that stage trick--genius."
"He could not deceive me: I would take his measure," said Mr. Bates, with a shrewd smirk.
"Still, I have heard that even the players beside him on the stage are sometimes carried away with the force of his acting," said Kitty.
"A paltry excuse for forgetting their lines!" sneered Mr. Bates. "Ah! no actor could make a fool of me!"
"Would anyone think it necessary to improve on Nature's handiwork in this respect?" asked Kitty demurely.
"How?" For a moment Mr. Bates had his doubts as to whether or not the lady meant to pass a compliment upon him. The demure look upon her face reassured him. "You are right, madam; they could easily see what I am," he said, tapping his chest.
"They could, indeed, sir," said Kitty, more demurely than ever.
"I do not doubt, mind you, that there is a certain superficial ability about this Mr. Garrick," resumed Mr. Bates in a condescending way.
"I am sure that Mr. Garrick would feel flattered could he but know that he had the good opinion of Mr. Bates," remarked Kitty.
"Yes, I know that I am generous," said Mr. Bates. "But this Garrick--I wonder what his Hamlet is like."
"It is _like_ nothing, sir: it is Hamlet," cried Kitty.
"You have seen it? What is he like when the ghost enters? I have made that scene my own."
"Like?" she said. "What is he like? He is like a man in the presence of a ghost at first, and then--then the ghost becomes more substantial than he. You hear a sudden cry--he stands transfixed with horror--you see that he is not breathing, and he makes you one with himself. You cannot breathe. You feel that his hand is on your heart. You are in the power of his grasp. He can do what he pleases with you. If he tightens his grasp you will never breathe again in this world. There is a terrible pause--he draws his breath--he allows you to draw yours; but you feel in that long silence you have been carried away to another world--you are in a place of ghosts--there is nothing real of all that is about you--you have passed into a land of shadows, and you are aware of a shadow voice that can thrill a thousand men and women as though they were but one person:--